ROLE REVERSAL
by Turretwithaview
Summary: "So Castle, missing your girlfriend?" the sinister tone cannot be masked by the remnants of laughter … the voice is familiar … not everyday familiar … but he knows it ….
1. CONTACT

**ROLE REVERSAL**

**"****_So Castle, missing your girlfriend?_****" the sinister tone cannot be masked by the remnants of laughter … the voice is familiar … not everyday familiar … but he knows it …. **

* * *

His phone rings ….. its Beckett!

"_Hey Detective, you missing me?_"

Silence … he's about to ask her … an unpleasant laugh coming down the line …. and it's not Beckett's ….

"_So Castle, missing your girlfriend?_" the sinister tone cannot be masked by the remnants of laughter … the voice is familiar … not everyday familiar … but he knows it …. it's floating into focus … dredged from the data bank of information his brain stores and processes and plays with on a daily basis … it's not recent, he has to go back … it's from ….

"_Tyson!_"

He wants to scream, he wants to call out her name, wants to threaten him with all sorts of vengeance if he so much as touches a hair of her head …. but he can't, he's mute, unable to breathe even … his mind just goes into freefall … _he's_ got her … Tyson has Kate … he'll kill her and he, Richard Castle can't write her out of it …

A faint squawking draws his attention … pulls him up short …. the squawking is coming from the floor, from near his feet …. his phone … he must have dropped it … he _can't_ lose touch … he _has_ to …. he bends down and grabs the phone off the floor, he fumbles it, almost drops it again in his panic ….. gets it to his ear "_….ill there Castle?_"

"_Wha … what do you want Tyson?_"

That same hateful laughter rings in his ear again, mocking and cold, reminding him of his failure the first time to read the man correctly …. the absolute certainty of his own death when Tyson penetrated the precinct the night he, Castle, was being held in custody …. he should be devastated, panicked … and he had almost allowed himself to go there … but suddenly something else is building up inside him …. he doesn't recognize it at first …. he has never felt it before and it takes him a moment to understand …. it is anger …. not the wild, hot anger that had him telling Beckett he was done when she wouldn't listen to reason and he had walked out on her …. not the red hot anger that had him chasing off to Paris after Alexis, knowing neither who to blame or why …. no, this is different .. it isn't anger that grabs and twists his heart …. this is settling in his guts …. it is a cold, steadily building anger …. anger aimed at a specific person, a known entity … and for the first time it is allowing him to think …. not clearly … but at least he can push the panic down, contain it for the moment.

"_….. listening Castle?!_" There is anger in the voice now and he is aware that if he isn't careful he can lose this, lose Kate. He swallows.

"_Sorry …. I … didn … didn't hear .… what did you say?_"

Even as he makes himself stumble over the speech, dragging out the time, he is moving quickly to the study, pulling open draws and flinging the contents aside.

"_Last time Castle, next time I have to repeat myself your Detective will lose a part of her anatomy … what would you prefer Castle … her pinkie finger, her right ear, maybe one of her nipples? … you want me to send you her left nipple to you in the post?"_

"_No! No … you won't need to do that … I'm listening!_" He wants to panic, to let the fear that is squeezing his heart take over .… but he knows Tyson, _knows_ him, and Tyson uses people, he controls them …. that was Tyson's thing; contr.… at last! He's found it … the burner phone and charger he'd acquired after returning from Paris with Alexis "_I'm listening, just … just tell me again!_" … the phone had been his father's suggestion …. always have a burner phone for emergencies …..

There is silence for a minute from the phone, then a suspicious "_Are you trying to be clever Castle? What are you up to?_"

He remembers the surveillance Tyson had put on him the last time … almost panics again at the thought of being watched by him right now as he fumbles to plug in the charger, connect it to the phone and dial Esposito's number from memory … he's got it wrong …. _hell_!

Castle takes a deep breath and answers even as he starts redialing the number "_No … no … just need to get some water!_" …. he'll soon know if Tyson has him under surveillance … he hopes to god he's right in guessing that the periodic sweeps his security company carries out would have found traces if he is. Sudden relief washes over him as he hears Esposito's suspicious voice answering the unknown caller …. he'd held the burner against his shoulder to mute the sound, and now he puts his own phone on speaker mode and quickly, before Esposito can interrupt …

"_Look Tyson, if you've got Detective Beckett, the cops will soon know, you'll have every member of the NYPD hunting you down … it's me you want, so let her go … tell me where to meet and you can have me in exchange for her, unharmed!_"

He holds his breath, squeezing heart and soul and every last part of his being into the hope that Tyson has _not_ caught on and that Espo _has_ ….

Please Mother of God, let Espo realize what is going on and …..

"_Why have you got me on speaker Castle?_"

He's already written this one in his mind.

"_I … I need both hands to ho .. hold the glass…_ " he answers in a shaky voice … hopes he's not overdoing it …

Silence from both phones …. please, please …. Oh god Kate! I can't do this without you!

* * *

**_To be continued as and when time and inspiration allows ... let me know what you think!_**


	2. REACTION

**AN: I'm not sure about this story ... its not 'flowing', but anyway, will keep on plugging at it for a bit. Let me know if its worth it or not. Thanks**

* * *

**REACTION**

"_And why would I want you Castle? …. I already have you … exactly where I want you_"

Castle lets out a silent prayer of thanks. He picks up his phone, turns speaker mode off and moves to one of the windows. He looks out unseeing at the New York evening going about its business in the streets below.

"_What do you want Tyson?_" his voice tight, though he tries to keep it as expressionless as possible.

"_We'll talk tomorrow Castle. I just wanted to wish you a good night_ …." He can hear the laughter as Tyson cuts the call.

He's still standing there, phone held in a vice-like grip when the knocking on the door recalls him to his present surroundings.

He opens the door and Esposito walks in resting a hand momentarily on his shoulder as he moves past him.

"_Thanks, any luck?_"

Esposito shakes his head. "_As soon as I heard what you said, I put a trace on your phone. We tried tracking back to his … he was on the move all the time, we're looking at traffic cams see if we can pick anything up, but it's unlikely. Phone is a burner … cash purchase … nothing we can go on unless he keeps using it_ …"

He was interrupted by an angry Castle "_Beckett! What the hell happened, Espo? How did Tyson get her?_"

Esposito flopped down onto the couch and sighed. "_Turn your burner off first Castle … then I'll tell you._"

Castle looked at him with a frown for a moment then realizing what he meant he went into the study, picked up the burner and turned it off. He went back to the sitting room and sat down opposite Esposito. He sat there tensely, waiting for the Detective to begin.

"_We were at a body drop, Ryan was canvassing the neighbours I was with Beckett talking to the family. We had a second body called in …_" he paused, a fleeting look of disgust crossing his face "_There were two patrol units at the second scene, they'd found blood and a woman's shoe in the alley but no sign of the vic. She told me to carry on with the family; she'd go check the scene_ …" he paused, got up and poured himself a glass of water at the sink before returning to sit down.

"_From what the uniforms told us, when she got there she looked around the alley with them, they checked the dumpsters, didn't find anything, checked doors, ditto. So she sent them round to canvass the businesses within view of the mouth of the alley whilst she phoned for CSU. They left, talked to the businesses, checked for cameras, the usual. When they got back, her unit was still parked up where she'd left it, but there was no sign of her. One of the patrols left to respond to a B and E in the area the other one hung around …_" He paused, drank some water.

"_When she hadn't made an appearance after half an hour and the CSU hadn't appeared, he got worried and called it in. We'd already done what we could at the first scene … Ryan and me were headed back to the twelfth when we got the call. Turned round and headed straight back there_" He paused, apologetically looking at Castle who sat stone-faced opposite him.

"_We went right over the place with a toothcomb, called in extra units, put out an APB, had CSU check the scene out. We were going to call you when Gates turned up. She had us go over everything with her … we were in the middle of it when your call came through_ …" He paused, took another sip of water, his eyes refusing to meet Castle's.

"_As soon as I heard you talking to Tyson, we put everything and everyone on to it …. or at least the Captain did. Called the FBI, pulled in off-duty officers, units were sent to your mum's place and to Columbia, we've picked them up and taken them to a safe house you can join them when you're ready_ …." he broke off at the look on Castle's face "What ..?"

"_I .. thanks Espo, I hadn't even thought of them as being targets …. the Tyson thing is so …. seems so personal … to Beckett and me … I didn't even consider my mother or Alexis being in danger …. I need to call them right now!_"

He got up and went into the study. Meanwhile the Detective called up his partner "_Hey Bro, any news?_" He listened for a bit … looked through the study doorway at the figure of Castle sitting at his desk … "_Difficult to tell Bro, never seen the guy like this before …. he's different, acting more like the Boss … you know, holding it all in …_" he paused, listening "_Don't know if he should be left alone … yeah, I'll keep you posted_".

He hung up as Castle appeared from his study. "_They both alright, Castle?_"

Castle nodded, "_Worried, but they're ok. Thank the guys for me will you Espo?_"

"_You thank them yourself, when we've got the Boss back and Tyson's six feet under!_" answered Esposito as he stood up. "_So, ready to go to the precinct?_"

"_Yeah, I'll just grab my coat_" he answered.


	3. BAIT

**BAIT**

Kate Beckett feels like hell, or to be more precise, she feels as if she's just completed a major workout. Every muscle in her body aches, her head hurts and as awareness percolates through her being, she feels the dull pain emanating from the upper part of her back.

She shakes her head, tries clearing the insidious cobwebs wrapped around her mind …. winces …. 'cos shaking her head maybe wasn't such a bright idea. She licks her lips, feels the thirst that is making her mouth dry and her throat feel like sandpaper whenever she swallows.

Kate recognises the symptoms, she's been tasered, someone has fricking well used a taser on her. She tries moving … realises that the reason she can't wipe her face is that her hands are tied … well taped to be more precise as her eyes adjust to the gloom … duct taped to the arms of a chair.

A brief struggle and she realises her ankles are also taped, probably to the feet of the chair, though the position feels strange.

She raises her head, licks her lips … not much moisture there … and looks around her. She seems to be in some metal cabin or container, though her eyes aren't yet fully focused, the gloom making her squint as she tries to make out her surroundings.

Before her is a rusted metal console of some type, empty holes and spaces where she guesses gauges, buttons and levers would have once nestled. Above the console are what would appear to be largish window gaps, though these are presently covered from the outside with what look like plywood sheeting.

She strains her hearing …. listens for any sound which might indicate her whereabouts .… all she can hear is a distant, not quite regular, metallic clanking, too far away to be of immediate significance. She tries turning her head, looking at the space around her. To left and right, her cell is similar, rusted metal to above waist height, large empty holes above covered in plywood sheets.

Floor and ceiling are also metallic, rusted rivet heads forming large squares across the surfaces. This looked suspiciously like a scene from one of those movies about long abandoned ships … though she knows nothing about ships, boats … whatever.

She's feeling cold all of a sudden, realises her thin shirt and slacks are not going to be of much help if it gets any colder. She shivers slightly … unsure if it's just from the cold or not …

Time passes, her body still feels overworked, her muscles still aching, though her head has cleared a little. The sudden scrape of sliding metal locks and bolts behind her warns her of a change in status ….

Apprehension charges her senses, sharpens her hearing as she tries desperately to anticipate … there is a metallic slamming followed by a loud click as a gust of cold air hits her from behind. For a moment there is silence … she tries to look behind her but can't see … the sound of soft-soled shoes on metal … a dark shape looms behind her shoulder in the gloom and …. suddenly she is whisked around as the chair she is taped to is spun.

The figure before her traces a gloved hand along her jaw …. She tries to pull her head back, away from the creep's hand … the silence between them is oppressive to Kate … but she refuses to be the first to speak …. then the hand is suddenly grabbing her chin forcing her face up as he leans closer in … the face takes on substance, shape, definition ….. she gasps, cannot help herself … "_Tyson!_"

"_Well Detective, nice to meet up with you again … I've been looking forwards to this moment you know …. for some time now_"

His hand scoots down, grabs her neck, his thumb moving to her windpipe … she doesn't get a chance to take a breath, his fingers tighten, apply more and more pressure … she tries to breathe … tries desperately to free her hands, to kick out … anything to ease the pressure on her throat … her lungs begin to burn, block spots flickered before her eyes ….

Suddenly he releases her … her gasping breath grating down her already irritated throat is almost painful …. but it is ok, she can breathe … cough …. life-preserving air filling her lungs, another lease of life … another chance ..

Eventually she is able to calm her breathing … her throat hurts … just one more discomfort to deal with, but she can handle that …. she lifts her head, finds him holding a water bottle out … she moves her head back, away from the proffered, clear liquid …

"_It's ok Detective, just water, if I wanted to kill you this early on I'd have already done it ... I need you alive, just a bit longer at any rate .._" the laugh vibrating round the metal room hits her like body blows ….. the significance of the phrasing not lost to her, and Beckett-like she grasps the opportunity, the chance to turn the tables, to prolong the chance of survival, she moves her head towards the bottle, allows her mouth to open, feels the glorious taste of water running down her throat, down her chin, her neck … lets the liquid calm the burning inside …. chokes as too much goes down … as some enters her air ducts and threatens to start her retching … he pulls the bottle back … outwaits her coughing … lets her breathing settle down again … offers her the remaining water.

He caps the now empty bottle, carefully places it in a trouser pouch, spins the chair round again so that she is facing the console as before and steps away. She hears the slide of the lock on the door behind her … feels the quiet settle in this, her cell, once more.

_Tyson! God Castle, please stay away … don't do what he asks of you, please … play safe, don't listen to him, take Alexis and Martha, go to California, Europe … anywhere … just get away, don't let him reach you! … _like a chant the words run through her mind as tears flow and a growing sense of fear builds in the pit of her stomach.


	4. SCENT

**SCENT**

It's gone midnight but the precinct is at full capacity, the illumination from ceiling lights and desk lamps bounces off surfaces that refract their glare around the bullpen. Men and women, some in uniform some is street clothes are manning phones and sitting in groups, quietly talking, glances going every now and again to the conference room where the FBI have set up their War Room.

Castle sits in a corner of the War Room, quietly watching Agent Shaw's personnel and advanced tech equipment gather, filter and correlate the information in an almost detached manner. He is aware of all that is going on, is watchful of the screens showing the gathered information appearing, there is just a chance that something may pop. But he doesn't really think they'll be in time.

Jordan Shaw can't help looking back at Castle every now and again. She doesn't like how quiet he is. This isn't the touchy-feely, teenager Castle of their last encounter. She's a profiler; it's her job to understand people, their motives, their fears, their psyche …. and right now Castle is not what she expected, what she believed he would be.

Castle appreciates the effort the FBI and the guys at the precinct are putting in … the latter especially touching. But he knows Tyson … he _knew_ he wasn't dead at the bridge, though Kate had tried to convince him otherwise. He _knew_ he would die at Tyson's hands, directly or indirectly, when he was being held in custody …. and he _knows_ that whatever Tyson comes up with is a trap …. but he has beaten a freezer, a nuclear bomb, drowning in the Hudson, a tiger, shootings and kidnappers …. each time with the help of others, but he has done it and he is just going to have to do it one more time.

His phone, the burner one, goes off in his pocket. He pulls it out, looks at the number ... unknown … and leaves the War Room. He makes it as far as Beckett's desk and sits in his usual chair. Not because it feels right, but because his back is to the War Room and to most of the pen.

Shaw watches him through the window. She sees the slight relaxing of the shoulders, the head lifting slightly. She doesn't like it. Castle is running to his own agenda. He stands up, puts the phone away and walks off to the break room. He pauses by their desk, talks a moment with them before continuing to the break room. A few minutes later, Detective Esposito stands up, grabs his cup and joins Castle. Detective Ryan seems to be busy with his computer. He looks up over the screen, sees Agent Shaw's eyes on him, ducks his head back down. She turns to one of the technicians; gives him a few muttered instructions.

Caste is busy with the coffee machine, his glance occasionally bouncing round the bullpen outside. He hears, Esposito enter behind him, doesn't look up. As the coffee begins to splutter into the cup, he turns, looks a moment at the Detective "_I'm not even going to ask you if you're with us ._."

He gets a hard stare from Esposito before the Detective turns to the sink to rinse his cup. "_What do you need?_"

"_The … treatment you gave Beckett for her PTSD …. the piece of metal … would it be available? Would you?_"

The Detective pauses a moment in drying the cup, then continues, a look of unwarranted concentration on his face. "_You have a plan? You know where he's going to strike?_"

Castle shrugs, looks at him … "_You know me Javi, if I was writing the book_ ..."

He gets a look from Esposito, up from under his brow, a considering look which in the early days would have had him worried. Not any more, not with Javi.

"_I'll need time; right now you couldn't get a toothpick out of here without someone noticing_."

Castle nods, "_I reckon we have twenty, maybe twenty-four hours. He'll want to play with the FBI, with us. And he'll want darkness, he doesn't want to suicide; he'll need the dark to disappear into_ …"

"_I hope your right Castle, I hope your right_"

The technician looks up at Agent Shaw, shakes his head, "_Burner phone, they weren't on for long enough_". Jordan Shaw is beginning to get pissed off. There were too many clowns and too many rings in this circus right now. She needs to talk to her kids, get some of the tenseness …

Castle's phone rings, his normal one. The recording equipment turns on automatically, the techs start pressing keys, turning knobs and pushing sliders. Castle hurries in, the phone already in his hand, he gets the nod from Shaw, hits the answer button.

"_Castle!_" he answers abruptly, his voice sharp, slightly higher pitch than he would have liked.

"_Well, well Castle. Burning the midnight oil at the precinct I assume? Got our friends from the FBI with you yet?_"

"_They're here Tyson, you want to talk to them?_" His voice is aggressive, pushing, demanding. It has Agent Shaw almost running to his side, hands desperately signalling for him to ease off, to not try pushing Tyson's buttons. Castle turns away, ignoring her. "_Let me talk to her!_"

There's a moment's silence then Tyson laughed "_And why would I do that Castle?_"

"_Because if not I will walk out of here and I will post a one million dollar reward for your capture … not you understand, for your being handed in to the police, just for your capture. Every bounty hunter, every criminal element, every cop with a mortgage will be looking for you … and where there is one million, there can be two, or three, or whatever is needed. There will be no arrest, no court of law, no prison sentence … do I make myself clear, Tyson?_"

Behind him there is stunned silence; from the most junior of the FBI team members to the Assistant District Attorney, everyone holds their breath. No-one is sure what has just happened; this is not how kidnapping cases are handled; total disregard for the legal process … especially with all the police and legal representatives in the room … is not the accepted norm.

"_Well Castle, I have to say you surprise me … I didn't expect you to show the balls. I'll call you back_" the line goes dead.

Castle turns to the technicians, "_Were you able to trace it?_"

There is a moment's hesitation; the mouse turning into the lion still had everyone in the room in shock. Agent Shaw moves up behind the communications expert and nodded. He turns to his screens and points to the results of the triangulations. "N_ear Church Square Park, Hoboken_"

It is almost 20 minutes before his phone rang again. Twenty minutes of silence as everyone keep their thoughts to themselves. Junior members shooting looks from Castle to Agent Shaw to Captain Gates to Rosalind Dryers the ADA and back again, quick to look away when any of these looks up from their immersed reading of reports and papers. All but Castle who sits in his usual corner seat, eyes closed, giving the impression of calmness though the constant flexing of fingers on his knees gives him away.

"_Well Romeo, you wanted to talk to your girlfriend, I'll put her on_"

"_Becke…_." Before Castle can complete her name they all hear a snapping sound followed by a short, piercing scream.

"_That Castle was your girlfriend's little finger. Next time you threaten me, it won't be her finger I'll break … do you understand me Castle?_"

"_Rick …_" the line goes dead.

Everyone in the room watches as Castle's face drains of colour. His knuckles white around the phone in his hand. He turns slowly to the phone tracking screen. Before he can say anything Agent Shaw has moved up. "_Any luck with that call?_

The tech shakes his head, "_Not long enough_"

"_How far could he have got in that time?_" asks Castle in a strangled voice. A few key hits later a red circle appears centred round the original Church Square Park point_._

"_Anywhere within this circle_"

Agent Shaw stands up straight, "_I want that area saturated, search every abandoned warehouse, building or premises that can hide anything bigger than a mouse. Move!_"

The FBI agents stand up and leave the room, the cops in the bullpen standing as they emerge, ready to give a helping hand. A steady stream of Agents and cops head for the lift, checking weapons, torches and pulling on jackets as they go.

"_The last bit, can you play it for me?_" asks Castle of the tech. The guy looks at Agent Shaw for confirmation, gets a nod and plays the recording ...

"_Rick ._."

It's her voice, raw with pain and something else … but it's all that matters to him right now. She's alive and she knows he's searching for her, it had been a dreadful gamble, a gamble he wished he hadn't had to take … but she was alive ….


	5. THE PACK

**PACK**

Castle sits in the War Room, eyes watching the screens showing the Hoboken area. It is nearly six in the morning and the green areas within the red circle are slowly growing as FBI and NYPD scour the district and clear zones.

He doesn't focus too much on the procedure; he knows it's a waste of time. Tyson will have either moved himself and Beckett from the hot zone if he was there in the first place or he'll have a plan to pass under the radar.

He stands up, looks at Agent Avery, in charge of the War Room whilst Jordan Shaw is leading the Tyson hunt and says "_I'm off home for a shower and a couple of hours sleep. Call me if anything comes up?_"

"_I'll get one of our people to escort you home Mr Castle_".

"_No need Agent, he'll be busy trying to elude you people. I'll be perfectly safe_"

Avery shrugs reluctantly, he has had no specific orders on the matter and the writer seems to have an unusual amount of leeway around his boss and the precinct's Captain … who was he to argue.

Castle heads for the lift, glancing at the almost deserted bullpen as he walks past. Crimes are still being committed, and a handful of Detectives are having to handle the on-going cases. Ryan and Esposito had long disappeared, heading out with the other cops to scour the Hoboken area for Tyson … and more importantly, Beckett.

He gets a cab home, waves tiredly to Eduardo in reception and takes the lift up to the loft. He pushes open the door and closes it behind him. The lights are out, the dawn sky trying to push its way into the loft through the windows, outlining shapes in tones of grey, merging surfaces and details into uniformly blurred anonymity. A shape sitting in one of the armchairs stirs, the angle of the head turning, the features indistinguishable against the pale outline of the window.

Castle moves forward, throws his coat over the arm of the couch and sits down with a sigh.

"_Tough day huh?_"

Castle nods, runs his hands through his hair. "_I need a few hours' sleep, then we can talk. Mind holding the fort?_"

"_No, go ahead. Leave your phones here; I'll call you if anything breaks_"

"_Thanks_" With a sigh he stands up, rests his hands on the man's shoulder a moment and heads through the study into his bedroom. He kicks off his shoes and collapses onto the bed, pulling her pillow down and holding tightly on to it as he breathes her scent in. Minutes later he is asleep.

Whilst Castle sleeps the sleep of the dead, the City slowly comes to life. Traffic begins to build, businesses slide their shutters open, turn on lights and place merchandise out for clients to browse through and hopefully purchase. Offices begin to suck in their daily quota of staff, unkind light discovering sleep worn faces, painting them a weary pasty grey as tired eyes adjust to another day's existence.

In the Hoboken district, weary officers of the law gather round coffee mugs at strategic points within the ever expanding radius of the search. A number of interesting discoveries have been made … and put on hold until the present situation is brought to a close. Fresh shifts appear, drafted in from Training Academies and other precincts. A shake of a hand here, a pat of the shoulder there, a muted word of comfort exchanged.

Agent Shaw sits in the back of her command vehicle, fingers trying unsuccessfully to rub the gritty feel out of her eyes. It only makes it worse. The coffees are barely having any effect now, and time is running out. Soon the city will be up and running at full capacity, the moving traffic, both human and motorised making their search an impossible task, the likelihood of their target exfiltrating the area more likely every minute that passes. The road blocks placed on all access points to the area cannot be maintained once the city has come to life; the resulting tailbacks will cause too much chaos. The waterways can still be patrolled, but the number of private as well as commercial boating moving around makes it too easy to slip past.

To the east the teams have reached the water, are searching Pier Park, Sinatra Park, Castle Point lookout (she smiles warily at the name) and the areas in between. The Marine Services Bureau is patrolling the waterways, checking any boats or harbour craft on the move, offering backup to the men on foot.

Northwards the search is approaching 9th Street and westwards they are clearing Monroe. Soon the teams from the east water side will be able to join the ones north and west to speed up the search in those areas.

Southwards the teams are nearly at the railway lines. They'll get slowed down here, the need to search trains, goods carriages, building and station. She rubs her face, yawns and thinks about calling her kids to wake them up for their school morning. She decides against it. Too many things to deal with, once again she'll have to leave it to her husband to get them up and to school.

The sun begins to climb higher into the sky, the bustle of the wakening city growing in crescendo, the daily commutes, the mass movement of goods, the rush of workers from the outlying suburbs clashing with the outgoing night shifts and partygoers; the search grinds slower and slower as officers have to double-back to check on something they had not noticed before or which had appeared moments earlier.

By midday, uniforms who had already spent the night searching the area and had returned home for a few hours' sleep are already back on the search parties.

Agent Shaw had finally grabbed a few hours' sleep stretched out in the back of the command vehicle. She gets woken up by a shake to her shoulder. She rubs her eyes, tries to get her bearings. Agent Mathews hands her a cup of coffee, waits for her to sit up, get her shoes on and straighten her hair a bit. This is not the first time they have been on an all-night, all-day search. They both have a good working relationship. Mathews waits until his boss has downed her coffee, has pushed the cobwebs of sleep away and her tired eyes have regained some of their light.

"_We may have found something, down near the scrap yard by the Liberty Harbour Marina_".

Agent Shaw stands up, runs her hands down her skirt in a vain attempt to iron the wrinkles out of it. Slinging on her jacket and grabbing her weapon and badge she steps out the back of the vehicle, moves round to the passenger seat and tells the driver to get going.

* * *

_**AN: My thanks to Google Maps for the Hoboken area info. My apologies for any mistakes in 'placing' this story in an area some 3000 miles away from my present location :)**_


	6. THE CHASE

**THE CHASE**

Castle wakes to a hand shaking him, head heavy from too little sleep. He rubs his eyes and looks at the door as it closes behind his silent companion. It takes him a minute to gather his wits, another minute to gather the willpower to get out of bed and head for the bathroom.

A five minute shower has him feeling half human again and he finds himself staring at his reflection, razor in hand, slightly bloodshot eyes giving him a hard glare. He takes a deep breath, nods at himself in some silent confirmation of an idea which has not yet formed. He gives himself a slight smile … _losing it Castle?_ … he can almost hear her voice in his ear … almost turns his head to look for her.

When he emerges from his bedroom he is smartly dressed, clean shaven, eyes almost confident. He can smell the coffee, takes the proffered cup, nods a silent thank you. He lets the caffeine do its job, feels his nerve ends begin to respond, his synapses churning into action. The silence is comfortable, unstrained … broken by a quiet knocking on the door.

He puts his hand on the door handle, checks through the peephole, turns round and finds himself alone, opens the door and allows Esposito to brush past him into the loft. Javi looks around, places the blanket wrapped item he is carrying on the kitchen counter and suggests he could also do with a coffee.

Castle is about to walk past him to the coffee machine when he sees the Detective go still, very still. He stops, looks over his shoulder and sees his overnight companion approach from the direction of the study. He watches intrigued as both these men warily observe each other; professionals who recognise the latent danger in the other.

Javi makes the first move, nodding in recognition and proffers his hand, feels it taken in a firm handshake, "_Nice to meet you sir, haven't been told much about it, but we were all glad to have her home_"

"_I could say the same Detective, my son doesn't say much about you guys, but I know he trusts you and my own sources agree. Thanks for having his back_"

Castle watches, amused, as the two of them lean comfortably against the counter, both studiously ignoring the elongated bundle lying on the counter before them. He gets Javi his coffee, receives a nod of thanks when he passes him the mug. Watches as his father quietly sips his own coffee.

Almost in unison, both men place their empty coffee mugs on the counter and turn inquiring looks in Castle's direction. He leads them into the study, takes his chair by the desk and waits for the others to choose and settle in their own.

They sit there for almost two hours whilst he outlines his plan, explains his thought process, profiles Tyson and uses his 'murder board' to map out the plan of action. His two companions listen, proffer advice, argue their doubts and modify the plans … until his phone goes.

He puts it on speaker "_Agent Shaw, any news?_"

"_Just wanted to let you know that we believe we have found where Tyson was holding Detective Beckett, Mr Castle_ …" they can hear the weariness in the voice despite the slightly tinny sound emanating from the phone's speaker. "… _we're down at the_ _scrap yard by the Liberty Harbour Marina if you want to come down?"_

"_I take it there is no sign of either of them Agent Shaw?_"

"_Nothing but minor traces …. blankets, a couple of empty water bottles, some duct tape_ …"

"_What about … signs … of violence_?" his voice interrupts, a fist round his heart as he says the words.

"_Nothing, Mr Castle …. although we have divers checking the area_ …" they can hear the reluctance in her voice to take it any further.

"_I'll be there shortly Agent Shaw, thanks for calling_" He cuts the call and looks at his two companions, "_As we thought, he's a step ahead of them. I expect he'll be contacting me soon to keep things rolling. Javi, are you ok with this …?_"

Esposito nods, "_I called in to tell them I was following a lead … that'll give me a couple of hours before they start buzzing me ... should be ample time to scout the area out, look for the best position … I just hope you're right Castle!_"

"_CHRIST JAVI! … DON'T YOU THINK_ … " he bites his tongue, raises an apologetic hand to the Detective.

Esposito shrugs, gives him a lopsided smile, "_No problems Bro, I should have said that differently ._." he stands up, gives Castle's shoulder a squeeze "_We'll get her back Rick … and bury Tyson for good!_"

Castle watches as his father gets up and walks Esposito to the door. When he returns he is carrying the blanket wrapped object. He stands it up behind the study door, against the book shelf. The older man shrugs when he sees his soon watching him, "_Best not to leave these kind of things lying around in the open. I'll go get what I need … keep the faith Richard, keep the faith_". Castle nods, picks up his keys and phone and follows his father out of the loft.

As he pulls in to the scrap yard Castle observes the numerous members of the FBI and NYPD routing through the piles of rusted metal; ship and vehicle parts, old cranes, girders, etc. His escort turns round and heads back out to the Jersey Avenue access, his mission to impede the entry of any unauthorised people.

Climbing out of the car he sees a group of people gathered near the water's edge where an assortment of tugs, barges and smaller workboats are moored around a pontoon stretching out into the water. Curiously enough, the opposite bank holds a number of moored yachts and smaller private crafts creating a sharp contrast between the two.

The group breaks apart as he approaches and Agent Shaw steps towards him. She puts her hand out, grips his arm and guides him onto the pontoon and up onto the narrow decking of a battered, rusted landing craft that had obviously been used as a barge before succumbing to age and rot.

The small wheelhouse atop the poop has plywood sheets fixed across what had once been the windows. Shaw leads Castle into the wheelhouse through the clip door at the rear. Once inside the confined space she points to the bridge chair bolted to the floor.

"_My team found some strips of duct tape and adhesive residue on the arms of the chair and on the footrest. Someone was sick here recently_ …" she points to a small patch of what looks like bile near the front bulkhead "… _as well as some empty bottles of water and a couple of old blankets and a piece of tarp down in the hold_ …" pointing to the forepart of the craft.

Taking his arm she leads him back out of the wheelhouse and round till they are looking down into the hold. The bottom is covered in what looked like old sand, the surface washed into smooth humps and discoloured with a mix of rust, dirt and what might at one point, have been paint. "_The impression is someone was camping here … latrine over in the far corner by the front … or the bows as I have been reliably informed they are called. According to the owner of the yard and his employees, no one has been near this hulk for months, certainly not over tha last few days_".

She lets him take in the scene for a few moments more before leading him back off the craft and on to the shore. "_Divers are still searching, but so far they have found nothing in the immediate area and the M.S.B._ …" she notes his look _"… Marine Services Bureau, says the currents in this area are very sluggish, unlikely to have carried any …. evidence … very far_"

He nods in understanding, not that he really thinks Tyson would finish with her yet … no, he'll want Castle to see it, to suffer it, to be impotent in the face of Tyson's power … no, she is still alive, somewhere.

He turns to her and shakes her hand, "_Thank you Agent Shaw, I'll head back to the precinct for a bit … let me know if anything turns up?_"

"_Of course Rick, I'll keep you in the loop_" she answers. Jordan Shaw watches him as he turns and walks back to his car. She knows that he is keeping something from her, and _he_ knows she knows. But whatever it is, she gets the feeling he isn't going to let her in on it. She could haul him in for questioning, isolate him, try and make him cooperate, but her instinct tells her to let him run lose. She has a feeling that keeping tabs on Castle from a distance will lead them to Tyson more effectively that trying to strong-arm the information out of him. Also she had seen how the Writer and Beckett had been together …. she is not going to stand in the way of those two getting together again.

Climbing into the Command vehicle she looks at Agent Lopez "_Is it working?_"

He looks at the screen and points to a blinking light "_Signal's strong, taking a right now onto Grand …_"

"_Ok, just tell Smalls and Kovak to make sure they don't lose him!_"

"_Yes ma'am_", he answers as he picks up the radio.

She climbs back out and looks for Mathews, spots him talking to a couple of NYPD uniforms and heads in his direction. He sees her coming and turns to meet her. "_Dan, I'm headed back to the War Room … I've a feeling this is going to break over the next few hours. Finish up here as soon as you can and head back in_".

He nods and watches her turn to go. "_Hey, boss …?_" and when she's looking back at him "… _we'll get him!_"

Her tired eyes light up for a moment, the little quirk of her lips momentarily giving the lie to the tiredness of her face. She gives him a wave and heads for her vehicle.

Castle heads back to the 12th, has to park up nearly a block away, but it gives him a chance to pop into Remy's and pick up something to eat. He realizes that apart from coffee this morning he has had nothing to eat since yesterday evening. Not that he really feels like eating, but he's sure things are going to start popping tonight and he needs to have some fuel in his body. He nods to several uniforms, shakes hands with McNulty, gets a pat on the back from Karpowski. It's all there, in small ways, the 'one of us' attitude that he still finds surprising sometimes.

He's in the War Room, watching the screens, waiting for Tyson's next call when Agent Shaw arrives. She's a bit surprised to see him where he said he would be, but lets it go. She hasn't slept for more than a couple of hours in the last twenty-four, so she heads for one of the conference rooms and stretches out on a couch … closes her eyes for a couple of minutes and is soon asleep.

Castle looks at the time. Seven thirty, time to get moving. If he's right and Tyson is planning something for tonight he needs to be ready, be able to set the ball rolling without having the FBI looking over his shoulder. He stands up, stretches, makes a bit of a show about it, picks up his mug and heads for the break room.

He waits a bit then heads out the other door and down the stairwell to the main entrance. As soon as he's on the street he hails a cab, climbs in and gives the address. Twenty minutes later the cab pulls up, he pays, climbs out and waits for it to disappear. He walks back the way the taxi brought him for two blocks, turns into the familiar doorway and heads up in the lift.

He knocks when he reaches the door, hears some movement inside and waits for the door to open. Once he's inside he looks around the familiar apartment. Kate hardly has much of her stuff here anymore, some books, a few pictures, some of her furniture … but most of her stuff has slowly made its way into his … their, loft.

Javi pushes over a plate of spring rolls and a bottle of water. "_Get some of both into you_" and watches until Castle has eaten a couple of rolls and had some of the water. "_Your Dad left these …_." and he pushes a small box across the counter.

Castle snaps open the box and looks at the contents; an earbud and a throat microphone. Empty spaces in the foam indicate missing units. Esposito explains them to him "_The micro earphone is wireless, the wireless transmission works silently and is automatically picked up by the earbud on the transmission necklace. The microphone's connected to your cell phone with this …. frequency is preset, just talk normally and we'll both hear; anything we say, you'll get in your ear. Just make sure you don't move your lips too much when talking!"_

"_Ok, I'm heading out to get in position; it could be a long night …_" they bumped fists "_… good luck bro!_"

The ringing of his phone wakes him up. He hadn't expected to fall asleep. The tension had been knotting his stomach. Now he has to clear his throat, lick his lips. He thumbs the answer button.

"_Well Mr Writer man. I think it's time we met and settled this little matter, don't you?_"

"_Where do you want to meet Tyson? And what exactly do you want?_"

"_What do I want? I'll tell you what I want Castle ... I want you ... in my gunsight ... and maybe I'll let your girlfriend live .._." the mocking laughter bounced around the apartment and Castle had to swallow a lump in his throat.

"_You still haven't told me where_"

"_You remember where we met last time I was in the City Castle?_"

"_I'm hardly likely to forget ... I put several rounds into you Tyson ... or at least into the vest you were wearing!_"

"_Half past two Castle ... that's exactly two hours from now, if I don't see you, or I see any cops or Feds ... I drop your Detective with a round through her spine and then I'll go looking for your daughter ... understood?_"

"_Understoo..._", the line goes dead and Castle grips the phone with white-knuckled fingers. He had gambled ... god! He had gambled ... and now ...


	7. TRAP

**TRAP**

Ideally Esposito would have preferred the Allen Hospital rooftop. The bridge corner would have put him within a hundred feet of the near-end and three hundred off the far end; a nice, easy range. But carrying a fishing rod case through hospital reception, hallways and stairwells without someone raising eyebrows and remembering the fishing fanatic was too much of a risk.

The six floor residential brownstone on the other side of the river was his second choice. It was about twice the distance to the target, but offered easy access via the outside fire escape on to the top floor. He had had to wait a bit in his car further up the street until the mini market store on the corner had closed up for the night; the owner obviously believing in working late hours. He'd used some empty crates and the store's awning to get to the fire escape's ladder and had then cracked the door on the sixth floor giving him access to the hallway.

Now he's on the corner of the roof, the bag of rice wrapped in the blanket sits on the stone bulwark in readiness. He slides the Remington out of the fishing case, makes sure the safety is set before flipping up the covers on the scope and swinging the bipod out. He slides the magazine out, drops it into his pocket and checks the chamber. He eases the rifle's bipod onto the blanket and taps the barrel to settle the feet either side of the bulge formed by the bag of rice.

Carefully he sets the sights on the middle section of girders, just above head height. He moves the scope slightly, spots the strip of fluorescent orange that is being picked up by the breeze blowing down the canal. He watches it a moment, then shifts the sights to the opposite side of the structure, it takes him a bit longer to pick up the other orange indicator. He pulls the rifle back, clips the magazine into place and rests it against the brickwork.

He takes the binoculars from around his neck and scans the area, memorising the position of static objects, spending extra time on the darker patches which might hide something, learning the patterns of movement that this area of Manhattan offers at night.

Finally he settles down behind the wall, keeping himself off the skyline, pulling his jacket around himself …. now the worst part … the waiting.

* * *

The figure in the old, heavy overcoat and woolly hat walks slowly along the left hand sidewalk, stopping each time it reaches a waste bin to rummage through it before moving on. The lamps create pools of light criss-crossed by the darker shadows cast by girders and structures, the control room cameras pick him up and lose him as he shifts from one patch to the next. The operator watches him for several minutes and then goes back to listening to the western conference game. Half an hour later, he spots the same homeless guy walking back along the right-hand sidewalk, still checking on the contents of the rubbish bins positioned along the structure. He shakes his head and concentrates on the last few minutes of the game.

The figure disappears off the Inwood end and gets lost amongst the trees lining the riverbank. He waits a moment in the darkness, listens for any sound of following footsteps or unwanted company. Only the rustle of leaves overlaying the sound of lapping water, the occasional rumble of passing vehicle and the mating call of a frog impose themselves on the night. His breathing is steady, shallow, consciously blocked from his aural analysis of the surrounding environment. Satisfied, he moves down to the water's edge, strips the old coat off and drops it into the water. The black clothes revealed underneath blend in to the surrounding darkness, the dark woolly had unfurls to cover the face, only the eyes giving him away. He settles down, waits, his back to the concrete support behind him.

* * *

A dark panel van pulls up outside the shuttered Applebees store on W225th, the lights turn off and silence ensues. Ten minutes later the driver's door opens and a man of medium build gets out, locks the van's door and walks away down the street leading to the parking lot overlooking the railway lines.

He pulls a NOXM-50 Night Vision Scope from the bag slung across his shoulders and surveys the scene. Firstly he observes the water's edge, both banks, looking for any tell-tale signs of unwanted visitors. Satisfied he raises the scope and checks the bridge structure, both levels, looking for the give-away signs; movement, the glitter of some polished surface catching the light, the scope picks up the figure of a woman crossing the bridge along the near sidewalk. It tracks her across, watches her until she disappears behind the building fronting the parking lot.

Finally he raises the scope to observe the rooftops, the towers on each end of the bridge, the points of observation which offer the best options … still nothing. He grunts, not yet satisfied. Another three hours before the deadline. He settles down, his back against a fence, the scope being raised every now and again to study the scene, find the non-conforming element that will stop him making the phone call or make him change to plan B.

* * *

Agent Shaw wakes up feeling slightly better, then glancing at her watch she shoots up into a sitting position. Eight forty five! She's been out for over an hour. She slips her shoes on, picks up her jacket and slings it over her arm. On entering the War Room her eyes automatically scan the screens, take in the information on display, compares it with her memories of the information available when she was in here last time. She lets her gaze wander over the room, moves it back to the screen .. does a double take.

She grabs Agent Avery's shoulder "_Where's Castle!?_"

Avery looks around, frowns "_He was here a while ago, went to the break room …. I haven't seen him since_"

She turns to Lopez "_Is the bug still working?_"

"_Yes ma'am, car's been parked same place he left it this afternoon. Hasn't moved!_"

She turns to the field agents at the back of the room, her voice urgent, "_Kovak, get down there and check that the car is there. Smalls head to his place, check if he's there. Bishop comb the precinct, I want to know if he's here or been seen leaving!_"

_Shit! Shit! Shit! Why had she let herself go to sleep? She'd known he was up to something!_ She starts pacing back and forth, looks over the reports for traces of calls to Castle's phone … there have been none.

Lopez's radio has Kovak's voice telling them the car is still in place, unmoved, the bug still slotted snugly under the rear door handle. Ten minutes later a rather out of breath Bishop reports that Castle was seen leaving the precinct round seven forty _… almost an hour ago!_

She isn't surprised when Smalls calls in that Castle hasn't been seen anywhere near the loft since earlier in the morning. She shakes her head, looks at Bishop "_Could you rustle up a coffee? Thanks_"

She sits down on one of the chairs and thinks about calling home … no she's too annoyed, they'd notice and he'd call her out on it.

It's over three hours later when the buzzer goes on Castle's phone tap. Everyone sits up straighter, leans forward a bit more, Agent Shaw springs to her feet. The tracers are busy trying to triangulate the points of transmission and reception, find out which towers the calls pinged off. The call ends …. they listen to the playback …

"_Well Mr Writer man. I think it's time we met and settled this little matter, don't you?_"

* * *

The City settles down for the night as Castle drives through Harlem, past the Bronx, up towards Kingsbridge. He checks his watch. The streets are quieting down; mid-week is not really party-time, those out and about in the early hours are either on shift, working late or indulging in the kind of activity NYPD frowns upon. Both phones are on the passenger seat next to him, both are presently quiet. He'd already texted Javi and his Dad, they would now know almost as much as he did.

There's a used car lot on the corner of Broadway and W216th. He pulls up at the pavement and checks the time. Twenty minutes to go and he's only a few minutes away. He turns the car's lights and engine off, looks around before climbing out of the car and opening the rear door. He strips off his overcoat, drops it on the back seat and pulls on his Writer's vest. It won't do much good against a headshot, but any advantage is worth taking. He slips the overcoat back on over the vest. It feels bulky, uncomfortable, but will have to do. He climbs back into the driver's seat. Checks the time. Starts the engine, turns the lights back on and pulls out into Broadway again, his destination less than a mile away.

Approaching Broadway Bridge brings back memories. Memories of terror in a holding cell as Tyson described his bleakly brief future, memories of shock as their car is rammed from behind as they waited for the draw span to rise, memories of despair as Beckett got taken by Tyson, his gun to her stomach, memories of insane satisfaction as his bullets ripped into Tyson's body … memories of disquiet as he failed to convince Kate and others that Tyson was still alive.

Castle reaches Broadway and 9th, just opposite the Allen Hospital before he spots a gap by the pavement where he can pull in. With the car's engine switched off and the window wound down he can hear the muted sounds from the Harlem River Ship Canal, the occasional passing car as the tyres swish over the tarmac, hit the metallic edge of the bridge's central part and rumble over the grid section.

He picks up the burner phone, checks that the wire to the mic is still connected and the phone is still on. Tests it. "_Andrei_" …. he waits …

"_Boris_" the sudden sound in his ear makes him jump. Christ, good job he's tested it before heading onto the bridge, his reaction would have been a dead give-away.

"_Carlos_" a moment later.

He still isn't convinced about the call names. The writer in him wanted something epic, historical … and if not, at least something kick-ass like _Alpha_, _Bravo_ and _Charlie_ … but his father had reminded him that if Tyson did pick up the transitions, the call signs would be blatantly obvious … he'd insisted on something which might get passed off as criminal or underworld activity.

His thoughts are interrupted by the ringing of his other phone. He takes a deep breath, swallows and reaches out for the phone …

* * *

_**AN: Final chapter coming up next ... oh dear**_ ._**.. where will it go? **_


	8. THE SPRING

**THE SPRING**

"_Ready Castle?_" the voice is amused, coldly so.

"_How do you want to do this?_"

"_Walk onto the bridge Writer Monkey, Jersey side walkway. Move along till you're at the half-way point. We'll be taking a ride and I'll want to see your hands at all times! Anything suspicious … you know what will happen … your girlfriend will spend the rest of her days in a wheelchair pissing in her pants_ …."

Castle's hands clenched into fists, he squeezed his eyes closed and forced himself to breathe. They were close now, close to the conclusion; he just needed to keep it all together for a bit longer.

"_There won't be any need for that Tyson, you'll get what you want … so long as Detective Beckett is unharmed_ …"

"_Will I Castle? You're being very generous considering you haven't got a clue as to my demands!_"

"_Let's get it over with Tyson!_" and he cut the call. He waited for an angry call back. The phone remained silent. He slipped it into his right hand pocket. Picked up the burner phone, checked that it was still on and had enough charge left. He lifted the left-hand edge of his coat and dropped the burner into the inside coat pocket, the wire running to the mic was now effectively out of sight.

"_Andrei moving_" he muttered and heard a double "_Roger_" whispered in his ear.

Castle climbs out of the car, shuts and locks the door … pauses with a smile on his face … it's quite possible he won't survive the next few minutes, yet here he is carrying out the most mundane actions … with a sigh he drops the keys into his pocket and checks before crossing the road.

He pauses at the dividing barrier separating the opposite lanes of traffic and looks around. Everything seems to be deathly quiet … is it his imagination or is even the Canal holding its breath? With a slightly shaky huff he steps over the dividing barrier and crosses to the other side of the bridge. Once on the sidewalk he begins to move slowly along towards the central section.

He's only just reached the start of the Draw Span where the tarmac changes to steel sections when the gong sounds. It makes him jump and he pauses a moment, watches the yellow barriers coming down across the road further back, the warning lights flashing across the top of the lower deck. With a somewhat juddery heart, he continues moving forwards towards the centre of the bridge.

"_Packets arriving_" he hears from Javi in his ear … "… _occlusion_"

He turns his head to look towards the other end of the bridge, he thinks he can make out some movement behind the girders, but from this angle can't be sure …. the _occlusion_ means Javi can't get a clear sight … or shot at them.

By now he's reached the centre of the bridge and is standing on the sidewalk, turning his body slowly to face the approaching figure … figures? On the opposite side … there are over twenty meters separating the two sidewalks and the angle they are approaching from adds to it. The lights casting shadows, the girders between them … he thinks he can make her out … held tightly with his arm across her shoulders …

He stands there, trying to keep his feet from moving, his fists clenched by his side betraying the tension. The others have reached the central part of the bridge now, are across from him, the distance and the harsh shadows cast by the lighting makes it difficult to distinguish details. He can make out Tyson … or at least someone of his build …. standing behind Kate, arm across her neck and shoulder, gun jabbed into her side …. she looks terrible, face pasty white in the overhead light, dark shadows under her eyes, though that could be more from the lighting … duct tape across her mouth, hands taped together in front of her, her clothes look dirty, trouser leg torn just above her right knee.

The gong has stopped ringing several minutes ago. He can feel a shuddering under his feet and then a slight grating sound. Suddenly he feels slightly disorientated, feels the floor rising, slowly, the horizon in front of him beginning to shift as the Draw Span moves upwards. A small part of his brain wants to be fascinated by the experience watching the scene shift before him. He turns his head and stares as they rise level with the upper deck where the three tracks of the IRT subway run as far as the edge … slowly they rise higher, the tracks now stretching away towards Broadway. The Draw Span comes to a juddering halt as it reaches it's maximum height of forty one meters above the water.

Tyson moves forwards under the massive inverted V-shaped girders. He waves the gun at Castle indicating he should also move forwards ….

* * *

Dario Coressi does not consider himself a bad guy, sure, he's done some stuff his mama wouldn't have approved of, but hey, a guy's gotta live right! And the ponies … well, a big win and he could leave this lousy job, get himself a good house, a good car, maybe a good woman, go visit the old country … there's a lot a guy can do with a bit of money. And when the man came and suggested how he could get some … a nice big packet that Uncle Sam wouldn't even have to know about … it _was_ after all just a question of putting the frights on a guy, a quick, quiet job, no one the wiser … and a nice bank roll which could pay off the debt … get Vittorio the loan shark off his back … or maybe he could just try on the track … maybe win enough to pay Vito off _and_ set himself up …

… but he doesn't like the way things are panning out. He was supposed to have turned the cameras off once the gong went …. a malfunction if anyone should ask … and he has. He has turned the cams off … except for the one … he just wanted to see what the fun was about … but then he's seen the woman, the creep holding her at gunpoint … that wasn't what he's imagined, agreed to …. he doesn't want to know what's going down … but the cam is still showing him the scene as the central part rises … now their heads are cut off as they rise up towards the upper deck … only their legs visible now ….. soon they will be out of sight ..

Coressi is still too engrossed in the one active screen …. doesn't feel the cool breeze as the door behind him opens, doesn't hear the stealthy entrance of the black-clad visitor ….. all he feels is the touch of cold steel to the back of his neck .… Dario Coressi is not a bad guy … but the video feed he has been watching … the sudden unexpected feel of cold steel to his neck … Dario Coressi collapses in a dead faint. The masked figure looks down at the crumpled figure in surprise, perhaps a faint smirk detectable behind the wool mask.

* * *

Esposito is kneeling by the parapet, the Remington tight against his shoulder the scope showing him a close-up of Beckett and Tyson. The angle is all wrong. Tyson's height and Beckett's are too alike, he is holding her as a shield and right now she is between his scope and Tyson. There is not enough exposed target for him to be able to make a shot ... the slightest shift of position, turn of a shoulder and he could kill Beckett ….

He had made the last minute preparations as soon as he got the call from Castle. He had rechecked the windage, watched how the strips of orange plastic had been fluttering, had made the calculations of range to the target as soon as Castle had muttered "Centre bridge" … had got his breathing under control … he was as ready as he could be to take a shot with an unknown rifle … but the target was just not cooperating

"_Don't have angle …_" he muttered into the mic.

* * *

Agent Shaw is fuming. They had eventually managed to triangulate the call and narrow down the area … it had taken them all of thirty minutes before someone had realised that Beckett's apartment was within the specified quadrant. A search of the apartment had thrown up little, some empty Chinese takeout cartons … not difficult to guess considering the two uneaten spring rolls on the kitchen counter ... a small black, foam packed box with several empty recesses … the guys were analysing it right now, but most of them could guess at the contents it had probably held.

They had been back in the War Room when the trace on Castle's phone had kicked off once again. Now they are rushing down into the street, piling into their cars and tearing up the tarmac as they head north, turret lights flashing to clear the way ...

* * *

Castle is about five feet from the central divider when Tyson tells him to stop. He and Beckett are about the same distance away on the other side. He can see her clearly now, the wide pleading eyes, trying to tell him something … probably to run and save himself .. but he doesn't want to listen to her, not just yet .. first he has to get her safely out of here … she is trying to say something but the duct tape across her mouth muffles it … she's shaking her head from side to side, but a sharp jab in the ribs from Tyson's gun has her gasping in pain through her nose …. for a moment Castle thinks maybe Javi can get a shot, but he's still holding her up with his arm across her neck and shoulder.

As they had approached each other he had also noticed her feet. Tyson has fashioned some leg shackles from the duct tape, about a foot of tape between her ankles, enough to allow her to shuffle her feet back or forwards … not enough to allow her to run or kick.

"_So Castle, remember what I told you that night in the cell?_"

"_Which bit? The bit about murder being just an act, that it's all about the anticipation, the planning... or the bit about my ruining your perfect vanishing act and screwing up four years of your life? … I can't remember …. you said so much … and here we are again!_"

For a moment he thinks he had gone too far. The gun jerks in Tyson's hand, shoots forwards to point between his eyes … he can see Kate's widening in fear … time seems to stand still for a moment … then Tyson laughs … literally laughs … "_Almost Castle, almost … but not how I planned it. Move!_"

The gun jerks to the right, telling Castle perfectly clearly where Tyson wants him to move. He begins moving sideways, towards the end of the span, Tyson keeping track of him, the gun never wavering, Kate held as a shield in front of him.

Something makes Castle look to his right and he stops. He is now less than three feet from the edge of the span, Tyson facing him from the other side of the central barrier, about ten feet from the edge. "_What's up Castle? Getting cold feet?_" he laughs at his own joke.

"_No target, I need him to turn_" whispered in his ear

"_What's the deal Tyson? I jump … is that it?_"

"_You've got a choice Castle. I tried to destroy you last time … I don't know how, but you got out of it. This time I'm not waiting for others to do the job for me, this time I'll make sure I do it myself!_"

"_Now, you have two choices; you can either take a few more steps … and jump … who knows, you might get lucky and survive …. or I put a bullet through your Detective's spine .. and then I put one between your_ eyes."

"_Take choice number one, and your girlfriend survives, intact … of course, she may feel guilty about your death for the rest of her life, but hey! At least she'll be able to carry on normally_".

"_Chose option number two and you die anyway … but you'll die knowing that she'll spend the rest of her life in a chair, unable to do even the most basic things like wiping her ass … how do you think that would affect her Castle?_"

"_Get him turned_" Javi's insistent voice whispering in his ear

"_What guarantee do I have that you will let her go unharmed?_" He ignores Kate's wildly shaking head and pleading eyes

"_I give you my word Castle … I know it may not mean much to you … but as I told you that night in the cells … the fun is in destroying you … and in tomorrow's papers, I'd much rather read about Ricky 'Splatt' than Nikki 'Splat'!_" he grins.

Castle nods "_Give me a minute?_" he sees Tyson nod and turns his back to them, looked up at the sky above, a few barely discernible stars winking down at him. "_Fireworks south?_" he mutters.

"_On the count of five_" comes back the voice in his ear.

"_Javi, on five_" he says quietly.

Turning back to Tyson he takes a deep breath then looks straight into Kate's eyes. He musters every ounce of love and feeling he can into both look and voice_ "Kate, there is always a tomorrow … I love you, always!_"

Tears are pouring down her cheeks, the tape muffling her sobs as she tries desperately to shake free of Tyson's grip.

Castle turns and takes a step towards the edge of the span. Below he can see the subway tracks leading into Marble Hill station and heading off into the distance towards Yonkers. With his feet barely inches from the edge, and keeping his eyes firmly away from the vertical drop to the tracks below, he turns to face Tyson and Kate. Quietly he starts counting "_One … two … three …. four …_ "

* * *

On the rooftop, Esposito is cursing everything and anything under the sun. He has an almost perfect shot. The target is just a bit lower than his firing position, no more than two hundred and fifty feet away!

But the bastard has Beckett right in the way. He was going to chance the shot anyway even an injuring one, just hope that Castle could get to him before he could fire at Beckett or that he could get a second finishing shot … but now the crazy guy is counting to five? What the hell?"

* * *

".._five_"

At the far end of the span, two rubbish bins detonate seconds apart. They are not big explosions, just a lot of noise, a lot of glaring light and a lot of smoke lost in the night-time sky. The unexpected detonations separated by less than a second have Tyson spinning round to face the source of danger, his gun sweeping to span ….. the sharp turn and Kate's taped ankles means she loses her balance, falls sideways and the weight pulls Tyson's arm down, Kate slipping out of his grip.

Almost as if he guesses what is about to happen, Tyson begins to swing back round towards Castle, his gun hand trying desperately to line up the gun.

Castle doesn't hear the shot, doesn't feel the whisper of a passing bullet, but suddenly Tyson's temple grows a mark … something clouds the air behind his head …. and Castle watches as he crumples to the ground …. It seems ages before his brain reacts, before he can force his eyes away from Tyson to look at Kate, lying on the ground, propped up on an elbow, staring at him in disbelief …


	9. EPILOGUE

**EPILOGUE**

Javier Esposito stares through the scope at the scene on the raised span of the bridge. He watches carefully as Castle straightens up from his slightly crouched position then steps over the central barrier before rushing to Beckett's side. He sees him crouch down beside her, pull her up into his arms, watches as she holds her taped hands up to his face.

He swings the scope back to Tyson, stares at the body lying on its side ... he had known it was a killing shot even as he squeezed the trigger. Only his previous training and Castle's countdown had stopped him swinging the scope to look for the source of the explosions ... he had not expected that, but even as he had thought to swing the rifle he had seen Tyson begin his turn, had seen Beckett's face swing away and then out of the scope's field of view ... he was unsure of the why ... but then Tyson's head had filled the reticule ... he had made a slight adjustment, let his breath ease out, had sensed that instant between heartbeats, had caressingly squeezed the trigger ... had not only sensed, but had also seen the killing shot hit home. As any trained sniper would do, he called in the hit "_Tyson's down_".

Now he licks his lips, feels around near the base of the parapet for the bottle of water, takes a long drink before recapping it and slipping it into the fishing rod case. He takes down the Remington, folds the bipod back against the barrel, flips the scope caps shut and releases the magazine. He removes each of the nine rounds in the magazine, drops the rounds into his pocket and snaps the now empty magazine back into place.

The gun, bag of rice and binoculars join the water bottle before he zips it closed, picks up the blanket and folds it over his shoulder. With a last look round he makes sure there are no traces of his visit. He heads back into the building, checks that the top floor hallway is empty ... either the occupants had not heard the twin explosions, were playing safe ... or were not interested. He reaches the fire escape, heads down to the last platform and uses the same awning to reach the street ... no dangling ladder to make this fire-escape especially interesting to investigators.

He leaves his car where it is, but slides the fishing bag with its contents in under the seat before locking the door and heading at a trot down the street towards the bridge which is already beginning its descent.

* * *

The man who had presented himself to his son as Hunt was still watchful. Hearing Rick's "_Fireworks south?_" he had assumed they were on the northern end of the span, not that the explosives were potent, they were little more than flash-bangs, a slightly souped up version of the SWAT's stun grenades, detonated by phone, each one with its own number. So he had selected the first number, hit the dial on the "five" count and then speed dialled the second one. Seconds later he had heard Esposito's "_Tyson's down_".

Relief had flooded through him but he still needed to make sure his son and his Detective were ok. He turned the key on the bridge's control panel to the down position and heard the steady rumble of the bridge's central span begin its descent. The bridge operator, Dario Coressi it says on the ID card hanging round his neck, is showing signs of coming round and Hunt doesn't really want that, best if he sleeps a little longer. He kneels down, gets the man into a sitting position and places an arm lock on his neck. He applies a little pressure on the carotids, cutting the blood supply to the brain, counts to fifteen and eases him back on to the floor.

Exiting the control room he heads for the bridge and walks towards the now visible Draw Span which is about halfway down. Across the gap he can see Esposito waiting on the other side. They raise a hand to each other, a cross between a salute and a thank you.

* * *

Castle's instinctive ducking on seeing Tyson's brains burst out the back of his head had initially left him feeling a bit silly, then, seeing Kate staring at him in disbelief from the ground, propped up on an elbow, he had rushed over to her pulling her into a tight hug. It had only been the unintelligible sounds coming from somewhere close to his chest that had reminded him of duct tape and pissed off Detectives. He had carefully peeled the tape off her mouth wincing at her evident pain before adding more bruising to her already painful lips by crushing his own to hers in a heartfelt kiss.

Initially she had responded, then she had started forcefully tapping his chest in frustration at still having her wrists taped together. He had managed to peel the edge off and unwind it ... there was no way he could have torn through it without something sharp. As soon as her hands were free Kate had wrapped them round his neck and kissed him until they both needed air.

It had been the jerking of the span into slow descent that had pulled them back to the present. He had helped her to her feet and led her across to the sidewalk, her still 'shackled' ankles something that they would need to work on soon. Leaving her for a moment he had crossed over to where Tyson's corpse lay crumpled on the ground the pooling blood, scattering of bone and brain matter ensuring he was not going to be coming back any time soon. He didn't look for long, just sufficient to confirm that he was effectively dead before returning to Kate's side.

She is sitting on the ground legs drawn up, back to one of the bridge's girders. She looks at him as he sits down next to her "_Is he dead?_"

He nods "_Totally!_"

She sighs, leans against him and grabs his hand as he throws his arm over her shoulder and pulls her into his side "_Good_" is all she says.

As the central span of the bridge settles into place, two figures approach them, one from either side. "_You guys ok?_" ask Javi as he reaches them. They both nod in exhaustion at him. She reaches out a hand and takes his in a fierce grip.

"_Thanks Javi_"

He shrugs, slightly embarrassed, "_Hey chica, anytime_"

By now Hunt has joined them; he looks at each one in turn and nods silently. "_Everyone ok?_"

"_Dad, meet Kate, Kate, my Dad_" says Castle with a laconically waved hand.

He bends down, gives Kate a kiss on the cheek before standing up again, "_Nice to meet you Kate, I'd like to stay and chat, but I need to get going_". He holds his hand out to Javi and both men shake saying nothing with words, everything with looks. With a final look at Castle he says "_I'll be in touch Richard_", turns and walks off into the night.

Javi walks to the railings, puts his hand into his pocket, fishes around for a bit and pulls his fist out. He holds his hand out, opens his fist and watches the splashes which pepper the Canal's surface for a moment before the sluggish current smoothes the surface out again.

He goes back and sits down next to Castle, watches a moment as the worn out Detective rests her head against the worn out Writer's chest and closes her eyes. He turns his head to look at the crumpled figure lying further down the bridge. "_Bro, I wonder how that guy got shot?_"

Castle looks at him, shrugs his shoulder and says "_I haven't got a clue, one minute the guy's got us at gunpoint, next he's dropped dead ... good job you turned up in time to get us down_"

They both turn their heads to the south as the sound of approaching sirens reaches them, then turn back to look at each other. They bump fists, grin at each other before schooling their features into reasonable seriousness ... which becomes increasingly difficult to maintain as a gentle snore emanates from amongst the tangled chestnut curls resting on Castles chest.


	10. Author's Notes

**AUTHOR'S NOTES (The first word being a somewhat grandiloquent way of describing myself!)**

First of all, to those of you who have got this far, thank you for reading.

To those of you who have reviewed, followed or fav'd this story, a heartfelt thank you. It's what kept it rolling in spite of my 'reluctance' to continue past the first chapter.

This story started with an initial idea of Tyson taking Beckett in order to get revenge on Castle. I didn't really think it through and just churned out the story for the first chapter. However, whether because the story was not really that good or because I simply didn't think it out, I have never been too happy about it, it just didn't 'flow' and has more holes in it than a famous Swiss cheese!.

In spite of this, some of you have apparently enjoyed it and this made me carry on in spite of myself. **Thank you for kicking my lazy ass.**

_I don't know if Broadway Bridge was the scene of Tyson's 'demise' in Probable Cause, but I needed a bridge with a 'lifting' central section and Broadway Bridge fitted. For descriptions of locations and scenes I have used Google Maps and Street View trying to keep it as 'authentic' as possible; any inaccuracies are due entirely to my oversight or not finding the required information._

I am in the process of writing a new story which I feel does 'flow' much better, so far at least, and which I hope you will enjoy. I want to get at least 8 chapters done before starting to post so I hope you will follow it if you find it any good.

**The story will be called THE WRITER, THE COP & THE SULTAN'S SAPPHIRE**

And finally, in no particular order but in a slightly more personalised thank you for your reviews:

pampilot67,

castlerocks101,

janinsc,

red2013,

ElizabethMe2,

CrimeGirlMariah2000,

conservativegirl,

I'm Widget,

PhoebeLuv25,

Writer-Muse,

sarahspencer125,

sewitsme,

Xtin2000,

musicnlyrics,

djinni14,

… and all you anonymous Guests.


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